


False Hope

by TaergaLive



Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [12]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: “Holding onto memories leads to hope, and hope is a dangerous tool in the hands of a manipulator."Sephrin meets Raphael. Surely nothing bad will happen!
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061618
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	False Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I always feel like it's cheating when I use dialogue from the game, but it was really fun piecing it all together into coherent conversations!

“Do you wish to be alone?” 

A rare occasion indeed. A day of rest after a particularly harrowing skirmish. For a good portion of the morning, Sephrin slept, nursing aching joints. Though she stayed out of most of the fray, she was still not used to the arduous work that came with keeping herself alive. As the sun headed for its zenith, she capered to the nearby field she saw Astarion laying in. He seemed peaceful, his eyes closed, taking in the sun. She was reluctant to speak out at first, but she did not want to intrude if he did not want her there. 

While his head tilts slightly in her direction, his eyes remain shut. “If it were anyone else, I’d say yes. But I’d be an unmitigated fool if I were to turn away your company.” 

Biting back her smile, Sephrin settles down beside him, being careful not to get too close. She knew whatever aches and pains she was suffering he must feel tenfold. He was much more involved in the fighting than she was, though now she wonders how quickly a vampire spawn heals. Indeed, she notices that a few of the bruises he had are much more muted than they were this morning. She surveils him quietly, mostly his face. Even as she lays next to him, his eyes remain closed. She notices a serenity about him that she normally doesn’t see. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was sound asleep. But the occasional twitch of his eyes moving under the lids confirms he is still awake. 

“See something you like, dear?” he says suddenly, still in that peaceful pose. 

Sephrin blushes but smiles. “Can you see through your eyelids?”

His lips twitch. “No, but I can feel your eyes on me. Am I that empyreal that I captivate you so easily?”

With an airy chuckle, she shifts to her side, tilting her body toward him, her arms tucked in front of her as if making a barrier between them. That is often how she lays next to him until he pulls her closer. He doesn’t this time, the arm closest to her still resting on his stomach. She doesn’t mind. She closes her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder. 

“You look so peaceful,” she answers. “You’ve missed the sun, haven’t you.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “Two hundred years without it does that to a person. Oddly enough, I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I woke up on that damned beach, drenched in the sunlight. For a moment, I couldn’t move, expecting to burst into flames. But…” The hand that was on his stomach gestures vaguely. “Here I am.” 

Sephrin nods. “That’s normal, I think. To not miss something until you’re reminded of it. Most days, I am able to live and move on with life, but there are days when I recall my father and...well, it gets a little harder to keep going.”

“When did he die?” he asks, and it surprises Sephrin a bit. 

“About two years ago. It was rather sudden. Suddenly got ill and…”

When she trails off, Astarion moves his arm to bring her in. Both of them shift, and soon Sephrin is resting her head on his shoulder blade, her arms still tucked in front of her. She always seems so hesitant to touch him in any way, even innocently. He lets the silence linger between them. Sephrin doesn’t mind. She doesn’t want to talk about her father’s death. 

“What was he like?” he asks abruptly. 

Sephrin furrows her brows. What was her father like? She’s never had to describe him to another person before. “He was...a gentleman. In all senses of the word. Dignified. Refined. We weren’t, we aren’t nobility, but we’re not paupers either. We’re...father was higher ranking. Mingled with nobility. They often came to him for advice. He…”

“Gentry then,” Astarion offers. “What did he do?”

She scoots closer to him. “He was a historian, of all things. But history is a powerful tool, he always said. If you want to know what the future holds, you have to look to the past. But he was also a collector. Collected books, treatises, records, anything that could be written down. At least three times a week, he would open his library to the public.”

“How magnanimous.” Normally, when she heard people say that phrase, they were being sarcastic. But Astarion sounds sincere. Or perhaps she wants him to be. 

“He was, yes. Felt that all people should have access to knowledge. He taught me to read since I wouldn’t take to tutors. I would shy away from them. So he took it upon himself to teach me. And once I knew how to read, he opened his library to me. Anything I wanted to know, I was allowed to learn. He kept nothing from me.”

Idly, Astarion starts to run his fingers through her hair. “So, you were always a little mousy, hm?” 

She shrugs. “I suppose so. Other people were scary. But I don’t recall ever being afraid of my father.” Propping herself up on her elbow, she looks down at him. “Do you miss your family?”

His eyes finally pop open as he meets her eyes briefly. “I don’t remember them.”

“...oh. I’m-”

“ _ Don’t _ apologize,” he chides gently. “It is with purpose. I don’t remember much of anything.” 

Sephrin furrows her brows. “Why?”

Sighing, he eyes the sky. “If you ever have the displeasure of being tormented for two hundred years, you’ll understand that it is better to forget as much as possible. Holding onto memories leads to hope, and hope is a dangerous tool in the hands of a manipulator. That was Cazador’s favorite weapon, hope. Dangle it in front of you before snatching it away. It is better to have nothing to hold onto, less he gets his hands on it.”

“That’s awful,” Sephrin says quietly. She opens her mouth to say more, but she stops herself. She recalls what happened the last time she tried to sympathize with him. So she keeps it to herself. 

Astarion must have noticed, but instead of getting angry, he smirks at her. “You’d rip him to shreds, wouldn’t you, darling? If you ever saw him, you’d make him  _ rue  _ the day he ever laid a hand on me. Is that right?”

While her face turns red, she grows somber. Even if she wanted to kill Cazador, a man she had never once met and knows only so little about, she knows she wouldn’t stand a chance. Not just because he’s a vampire lord. She can hardly stand on her own as it is. 

Chuckling, Astarion closes his eyes again. “I would  _ love _ to see that. To see you standing over his bloody corpse with his still-beating heart in your hands.”

Despite her pensiveness, she snuggles back against him with a little smile. “I wouldn’t take that right from you.” 

His own face grows solemn as she says those words. For a moment, his hand pauses its caresses, but he quickly regains his composure. “Yes,” he murmurs. “My right.” 

____________

Weeks ago, being in the darkness of the woods terrified Sephrin. Now, it has become commonplace. She had to learn quickly if she wanted privacy for, well, personal needs. Couldn’t really ask someone to keep watch, so to speak. 

Finished with her business, Sephrin makes her way back to camp. She can see the fire when a voice calls out to her. “My, my, what manner of place is this?”

Instantly, she whips around, eyes wide. A rather debonair gentleman she’s never seen before smiles at her. He is dressed much too nicely for the forest, not a snag or tear in his clothing. The sight messes with her mind. It seems too artificial. 

The man chuckles at her before looking away thoughtfully. “Let us see. What would suit the occasion? The words to a lullaby, perhaps?” When she doesn’t answer, he smirks at her. “‘The mouse smiled brightly; it outfoxed the cat! Then  _ down _ came the claw, and that,  _ love _ , was that.’ They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they?”

He then bows to her grandly. “Well met, my dear. I am Raphael, very much at your service.” 

His words, his voice, the surreal appearance. Sephrin’s nerves are on fire. But despite her fear, she is able to do something smart, albeit rather childish. She calls out for her brother. Even as she turns away to run the remainder of the way to the camp, she can hear her brother call back for her, hear him scramble from his place around the fire. But as soon as Sephrin turns around, she finds herself no longer in the woods. Disoriented, she closes her eyes. Dreaming, she’s dreaming. But when she opens them again, she is still there. A dimly lit banquet hall, complete with a table prepared with a feast fit for a king. 

Behind her, she can hear a fire flickering in a hearth. She also hears the man speak. “So hostile,” he chides. “Probably the surroundings. Felt a little too exposed, yes? Not to worry, though. I’ve remedied that. No longer in the middle of nowhere. Now in the middle of somewhere.” 

Bracing herself, Sephrin manages to turn around, but she cannot bring herself to look upon his face. She focuses on the fire instead. “Wh-Where am I?”

He smiles, gesturing grandly. “This is the House of Hope, where the tired come to rest and the famished come to feed...lavishly.” 

Sephrin hugs herself tightly. “P-Put me b-back. Pl-please, please, I…”

The man places a finger to his mouth. “Shhh, pet. Relax. And help yourself. Enjoy your supper. After all, it might  _ just  _ be your last.” 

Her swallow is audible, practically echoing off the walls. “Wh-what do, what do you m-mean?” 

He chuckles. “Call it a... _ ninth _ sense.” Before she could process that, he’s engulfed in a blazing inferno. Sephrin shrieks and scrambles back, hitting the table behind her roughly. Against her bruises, it stings. As the flames die down, the courtly gentleman is no more, and in his place is a tiefling. But something seems off. She’s never seen a tiefling with wings before. And something sinister surrounds him, though she’s not sure what. 

Amused by her expression, he smiles and tilts his head. “What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” He gives her no time to answer. “A devil you do. Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. But a savior? That is for certain.” 

Hands gripping the table behind her, Sephrin tries to keep from trembling. “I-I don’t need saving please take me back.” She speaks the words quickly so as to not stutter. One trembling hand manages to grab a knife from the table, clutching it tightly. 

Raphael clicks his tongue. “Come now, there’s no need for that.” A shudder runs through her. Did he know about the knife? “Why play hard to get when you’re in over your tadpoled head?” 

The knife clatters onto the table. He knows. How does he know? Her tongue suddenly feels too big for her mouth. Breathing is laborious. All of this just makes Raphael smile. “Yes, my dear. I know. One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight. I could fix it all like  _ that _ .” He snaps his fingers, and the flames around them burn brighter for a moment. 

She manages to find her voice. Curiosity tends to do that for her. “Wh-why?”

“Why?” he echoes? “Because my compassion is boundless. I  _ stride  _ among the needy, giving comfort where I can. And you, you’re in dire need.”

“H-How?” 

He tuts. “A salesman never reveals where he receives his wares, else his clients would have no reason to seek him out. No, my dear, if you want to know how, you’ll have to place your faith in me.”

Another gulp. She would be an idiot to agree to something without knowing what it is. But she’s afraid to say no. At the moment, this man, this creature holds her life in his hands. She has no idea where she is, if it’s even a real place. So, she has to play along. “I, I...I need...I need to...I’m not the only one who…”

“You need time to think it over,” he says as if they were merely speaking of some trinket or other. “Take all the time you need, but do make up your mind before you’re counting down with tentacles. Try to cure yourself. Shop around. Beg, borrow, and steal. Exhaust every possibility until none are left.” He steps closer to her. “And where hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair, that’s when you’ll come knocking on my door.” 

The table is in her way. She wants to move, but her back is pressed against the table. Raphael advances until he is mere inches away. She tries to avert her eyes, to look anywhere else but at him. But he leans down into her face. “Hope,” he laughs. “Such a tease.” 

Holding her breath, she ducks and scurries away, but fear makes her turn back around. She won’t turn her back on him; she knows better than that. But trying to escape backward makes her stumble and fall. Still, she tries to scramble away. 

All this just makes him laugh more. “I’ll be around, my dear,” he says, his voice ringing in her ears. “I’ll be watching you  _ squirm  _ like a tadpole through a nice, juicy brain. I’ll be there when, finally, your luck runs out.” 

A flash of light, and suddenly that awful ambiance is gone. She still hears the crackling of the fire, but she also hears crickets chirping. Panting, she frantically looks around her. Arms quickly surround her, and she screams. 

“It’s okay, Seph,” she hears Glynren say. “It’s me. Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

Still flighty, she tries to get hold of her senses. She feels the dirt in her hands. Ground, she’s on the ground. She’s outside. She’s back. Back at camp. Safe, safe, safe. 

Glynren, meanwhile, is checking over her, trying to find any injuries. She notices movement and flinches, but finds that it’s just Wyll. 

“You found her?” Wyll asks, sword drawn. 

“She’s over here,” she hears Gale call out. 

From all directions, the rest of the group join them, all with their weapons drawn. The sight makes it all too real, makes her realize what just happened  _ actually  _ happened. Her breath hitches. Her chest feels tight like a rope is tied under her bust. Tighter, tighter, tighter. 

Her brother rocks her. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay, Sephie, you’re okay.” 

“What in the hells happened?” Astarion hisses as he arrives, sheathing his dagger. With her panicked-addled mind, she thinks he’s furious with her. But she sees him rake a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. 

“Give her a moment,” Glynren tells him, though he speaks gently for Sephrin’s sake. “She’s scared out of her wits.” 

Shadowheart crosses her arms. “Didn’t you say someone else was here with her?” 

He nods. “There was, yes. I couldn’t get a good look at him.”

“A demon,” Sephrin finally manages to whisper. 

Glynren stops rocking and pulls away enough to look at her. “What?” 

Sephrin stares out into nothingness. “He was...there was...he came from nowhere. Took me somewhere, some sort of manor or castle. Red skin. Like a tiefling. But there was something else. Says he, says he can, can remove the tadpole.”

Scowling, Wyll shakes his head. “A cambion.”

Gale’s brows shoot up. “Truly? Huh, well, we should be flattered.” 

“Shut up,” Lae’zel growls. 

Glynren ignores all of them, focusing only on his sister. “He can remove the tadpole? He said that? Are you sure?”

She nods, her breathing slowing down. “Yes. Yes, and he, he said he’d be back. He’d come back when, when we’ve run out of options. That he was our...only hope.”

Astarion scoffs. “Now there’s a bloody devil after us? This gets better and better. And what’s worse, a devil that’s  _ right _ . We’ve had no luck so far.” 

Groaning, Shadowheart rubs her temples. “Just when I think I’ve got a grasp on our dilemma, a devil shows up.” 

“Don’t let his bluster fool you,” Gale states. “All that talk of desperation? It merely illustrates his own. I think he wants something from us, badly. And in that knowledge lies our opportunity.” 

“Aye,” Wyll sighs. “But it’s what he wants that is the problem.” 

Still holding his sister, Glynren frowns. “We’re  _ not _ making a deal with a devil. That’s stupid.”

It surprises him when Wyll grunts. “You say that now, but that’s only because you still have hope.” He locks eyes with Glynren. “But when he becomes your last hope, remember this: he’ll require of you what you’re least ready to part with. And then require more still. You might think you’ll give up anything for a cure, but the devil won’t take just anything. He’ll take  _ everything _ .”

Glynren gives Wyll a level look. “I’m not afraid of a cambion. And if he ever shows his face here again, I’ll kill him.” 

A harsh laugh interrupts. “Is that so?” Astarion scoffs. “Because you’ve got it  _ all _ figured out, I’m sure.” In Glynren’s arms, Sephrin flinches. She recognizes that tone. “You know who tampered with the parasite. And why. And what they have planned for us.”

“Easy,” Gale warns. 

But Astarion ignores him. “And of course you know why we’re interesting enough that a devil - pardon, a  _ cambion _ \- would proposition us.” His face grows hard. “Because if you don’t know  _ that _ , you may as well sign over your soul now. Until we know what’s going on, this cambion has us exactly where he wants us.”

“I agree,” Shadowheart pipes in. “As much as that pains me to say. I know people work much like our new  _ acquaintance  _ does. You don’t need a scourge or a rack to break people. Fear and self-doubt are sufficient. When actual pain comes, the victim’s already done the heavy lifting for their tormentor. Simply put, he was toying with his food: us.” 

Before anyone can say another word, a sob breaks free of Sephrin’s throat. She brings a hand to her mouth to stop it, but it’s like a floodgate cracking open. As she dissolves into a blubbering mess, Glynren holds her tightly, glancing at the others.    


“This conversation is done,” he instructs before frowning. “For now.” 

While it isn’t what the others want to hear, no one argues against it. Glynren gives his sister some time to calm down before trying to pull her to her feet. When that doesn’t seem to work, Astarion, without a word, lifts her up. He pauses only to give Glynren a trying look. Glynren returns it but doesn’t put up a fight, allowing Astarion to carry her back to camp. 

Wyll gives Glynren a hand up. “This just made our situation entirely more complicated.” 

“I know,” Glynren sighs, watching Astarion disappear within the tent. “He could have taken any of us. Why did that bastard take  _ her _ ?”

Wyll smiles. “Are you talking about the cambion or Astarion?” When Glynren glares at him, he puts up his hands defensively. “Just trying to ease the tension. We’ll keep a good watch tonight, just in case he comes back.” 

As they head back to the camp, Shadowheart looks to Lae’zel. “You’ve been rather quiet about this whole devil situation. What do you make of it?”

Lae’zel glances at her. “He is of no consequence. When I am kith’rak, I will bring my queen his head as a trophy.” 

Shadowheart sighs. “Once again, I shouldn’t have bothered.”

__________________________

“I felt so helpless,” Sephrin murmurs against him.

She has been coiled up by Astarion’s side. He says nothing to her, merely watching her with an unreadable expression. What could he say? That the devil was gone? That she was safe? There’s no point in stating lies. So let her cry, let her wallow in self-pity until she cries herself to sleep. She’ll be back to her senses come the morning. 

So it surprises him, then, when she props herself up on her elbow, locking eyes with him. Her eyes are still raw and red, but there’s something in them. At that moment, he sees her resemblance to Glynren. 

“I don’t ever want to feel like that again,” she whispers, resolute. 

Gazing up at her, a cat-like grin grows on Astarion’s face. “That’s my girl.” 


End file.
